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BY THE WINDING 
ST. VRAIN 

AND OTHER VERSES 


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Jaques C. Meumeau 


Copyright Applied For 

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PREFACE 


Part One of “By the Winding St. Vram” 
is a story of a boy and a girl, Joe and 
Vesta, who live in the Valley of the St. 
Vrain. It is a story of their childhood 
days; their school day loves; their child¬ 
hood friends; their wooing days, and the 
awakening of love; and last of all, their 
mating time. 

Part Two, The Honeymoon, we have in 
this book. 

Part Three is called The Golden Star. 

% 

And Part Four', tjdls of the Autumn 
time of their live’V*and ends with the vil¬ 
lage churchyard, cool and quiet. 


APR 21 1919 

©CL A 51 53 v 9 


"VtO I 





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This little book 
is sincerely dedicated to 
Mrs. Winnie Gates 

whose gentle kindness and smiling face 
will always be a precious memory 
to the author 


INTRODUCTION 


My own native mountains, many a song 
that man will never hear, 

Have sung to me in times of joy, and 
times when all was drear’. 

And now they are singing another song, a 
song that is sweet and new; 

And in return, tho half so sweet, I’ll sing 
the song to you. 


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4 


4 


BY THE WINDING ST. VRAIN 


The stars along the eastern sky 
Slowly fade, then slowly die. 

Now the scouts of day appear, 
Twilight comes the way to clear 
For the day’s advancing light; 

O’er the hills retreats the night. 

The god of light begins his reign, 
And sits upon his throne again. 

The world awakes from sweet repose, 
Once more upon its course it goes. 
The air is filled with sounds of life. 
Once more begins a day of strife. 


PART TWO 
THE HONEY-MOON 

1 

The morning dawned, calm, serene, 

On sleeping groves and meadows green; 
On cozy farms and pastures hushed; 

On orchard tracts where apples blushed; 

On tranquil lakes and winding stream; 

On passive woods where flowers dreamed; 
On fertile fields, and ripening grain— 
The Valley of the St. Vrain. 

Close in the west, high and bold, 

Bathed in floods of pink and gold, 

The Rockies ’rose, and smiled down 
Upon the fields and sleeping town. 

The morning seemed too sweet to die. 

And over all the gold blue sky. 


- 6 - 


Long ere the shades of night had left, 

The sounds of preparations deft, 

For long sojourn, ’mong hills and snows, 
Up from a little farm arose. 

Young man and matron, almost maid, 

In mountain boots and brown arrayed, 
Ate, and hurried ’bout the place, 

With happy, eager, smiling face. 

Nineteen times the St. Vrain, 

Had filled her banks and ebbed again; 
While Vesta on that little farm, 

Had grown to womanhood and charm. 
Strong she was, yet sweet and fair, 

With eyes of brown and chestnut hair, 
With sun-kissed cheeks, and pleasant smile 
Free from all the world’s guile. 


3 


\ 


The St. Vrain to Joe was home, 

Yet oft’ it was his wont to roam 
In foreign climes; on distant sea; 

A ne’er-do-well, a dreamer, he. 

Stalwart and tanned, a silent lad, 

Who knew a world both good and bad. 
The grey-beards, o’er his ways and pride, 
Oft’ shook their heads and prophesied. 

But Joe and Vesta little cared, 

This early morn’ as they prepared 
For sweet vacation’s carefree day, 

Among the mountains far away. 
Anticipation ruled the hour, 

With his cruel, deluding power. 

And yet, ’tis best that man’s weak eyes 
Can only see a part that lies 
Ahead, the way of life along; 

For healthy minds, the good, the strong, 
See mostly of the better half, 

And many a sob becomes a laugh, 

In a world that still contains 
Many wrongs, heartaches, and pains. 


- 8 - 


With hearts athrill, they bid farewell— 
And now the secret I must tell: 

It long had seemed, and yet so soon, 

This rising of their honey-moon. 

With wagon large and horses stout, 
With many a laugh and happy shout, 
They turned their backs on coming day, 
And rumbled up the broad highway; 

By dewy woods and lowland farms; 
Thru barren flats with silent charms. 
And soon the foothills, rough and grey 
Loomed up as tho to bar the way. 

But looking close there could be seen 
A narrow passage way between 
Two rugged walls, of stone and soil; 
Worn out by countless years of toil 
By the creek that tireless still 
Obeys the law of Nature’s will. 


5 . 


The canyon now broader grows. 
Meandering 'round the river flows 
Thru thicket dense and gravel bed, 
Thru peaceful town and banks of red. 
The dell becomes a tranquil vale, 

A gem within a guarded pale. 
Sandstone cliffs of red and brown, 
Along the barren hills look down 
Upon the fruitful vale below; 

And seem a sullen glance to throw. 
The mangy hills of thorny vine, 
Scrawny bush and stunted pine 
In bold relief stand out on high 
Against the dappled azure sky. 

From mountain side to mountain side 
The vale is scarce a mile wide. 

And orchards small and garden plots, 
Village streets and village lots, 

Leave scarcely room upon the plain, 
To wend its way, the St. Vrain. 


- 10 - 


6 . 


So peaceful all the valley dreamed; 

So calm the sun that softly beamed; 

It hardly seemed, short hours before, 

He’d gazed down on a bloody war. 

So quiet the town and country side, 

That one, the truth could scarce’ abide, 
Except for flags that languid blew, 
Proclaiming to the day anew, 

“Columbia calls her sons to strife, 

To save her honor and her life.” 

So sweet the songs that Nature crooned, 
One could not think that thousands groaned 
And passed thru dark Gethsemane, 

A little way across the sea. 


- 11 - 


# 


7. 

Lyons was still half asleep, 

When in they drove and ’gan to seek 
The other members of the “crew,” 

For this their chosen rendezvous. 

And soon they found them—nine in all, 
Smiling, happy, large and small; 

Roughly garbed from head to toe, 

Eager, anxious all to go. 

They'd journeyed here from distant towns; 
And one from out the circling downs. 
Helen in her riding suit, 

White felt hat and riding boots, 

Checked the luggage and the “crew,” 

For she had planned the tour thru. 



- 12 - 


8 . 


Dame Isabell, the chaperone, 

Mature, petite, a willow blown, 

Smiled on her little fairy queen, 

Sweet Caroline, just past thirteen, 

Who danced about with sprightly grace, 
The joy within upon her face. 

And Bertha with her winning smile, 
Said, “Sister dear, be still awhile.” 

Fair Bertha, with her graceful port, 
Might well have graced a beauty court. 
Plump Ester with her radiant smile, 
Chatted all the happy while, 

With tall and stately Winifred, 

Who nodded slow her queenly head. 
Frederick shy, in denim blue, 

Was introduced to all but two: 

Joe and Vesta’s boy-hood friend, 

With ways above youth’s natural trend. 
The wagon soon they loaded down, 

With camp outfit and parcels brown, 

And boxes filled with things they’d eat 
In Wild Basin’s far retreat. 


- 13 - 


9. 


Soon they leave the town behind, 

As up the narrowing dell they wind; 

Past many a peaceful mountain home, 

That sleeps beneath red Hat Rock’s dome. 
And soon they pass a narrow way, 

Where sand stone meets the granite grey: 
The Little Narrows, deep, rock bound, 
The door way to the hills around. 

The scenes take on a sterner mien, 

The creek becomes a roaring stream 
Between the hills, pine clad and high, 

That ziz-zag thru the violet sky. 

Along the base of Coffin Top 
They slowly wind, and often stop 
To rest the horses breathing deep; 

So long the way, the grade so steep. 


- 14 - 


10 . 


They crossed, recrossed, and crossed again 
The creek, whose wild dramatic strain 
With loud crescendos ‘wakes the hills, 
Where Central Gulch her brooklet spills. 
And up Big Narrows, rightly named, 

Where man, a road has hewed and framed. 
Half dampened by the flying spray, 

They snailed thru the narrow way. 

Past slopes and slides by nature squelched, 
Where black Ballarat her waters belched; 
Past sparsely wooded, rocky slopes, 

Where man had buried many hopes 
In prospect holes, whose crumbling dumps, 
Like lost sheep, fleck each gulf and hump. 
And where South Branch her waters freed, 
They stopped to lunch, and rest and “feed." 


15 - 


11 . 


The party here more genial grew, 

Tho still half shy of friendships new. 
And Vesta with her woman’s wiles, 
Sought her bride-groom’s every smile. 
And all the party tried to swerve 
Frederick from his cool reserve. 

But he, with thoughtful look and mien, 
Gazed up and down the winding stream, 
Noting angles, curves and fall, 

Telling Joe about it all. 

But Joe replied, “Come off the perch, 
Why all the science and research? 

We have fled from work and books, 

To us they’re but two roaring brooks. 
Methinks the curves of Bertha’s face, 
Would for the time such things erase.” 
And so with banter, laugh and song, 
They went again their way along. 


- 16 - 


12 . 


And now the way more level grew, 

Aspen groves it wandered thru. 
Willow-birch and hazel brush, 

Kinnikinick and maiden blush, 

Flanked the road on either side: 

A scene that any park might pride. 
Choke-cherry brakes, their waxen heads 
Bowed, with clusters black and red. 

The silver spruce, their branches swayed, 
Like maidens shy, and half afraid, 

The merry party would pass by 
Without admiring startled cry. 

Windy Point they circled by: 

A granite spire in the sky, 

Two hundred feet from base to crest, 
Where eagle scarce' could build a nest. 
They passed by many mountain farms, 
That nestle in the canyon’s arms. 

Stanley Crossing soon they made, 

And for the horses sake delayed. 

And as they watched the St. Vrain, 
Ester sang this sweet refrain. 


- 17 - 


13 . 


SONG 


1 . 

Cease for a moment, sweet stream in your 
play, 

Then take my message, and hurry away, 
Down thru the canyons, and out to the 
plain; 

Hasten, and guard it, my sweet St. Vrain. 
On down the river, and out to the sea, 
Where some one is sailing, and thinking 
of me. 

Sailing and thinking of me. 

2 . 

Tonight I shall listen close by your shore, 
Until the message is answered once more; 
Calming my fears, and soothing the pain. 
Hasten, I bid you, my sweet St. Vrain. 
Down thru the canyons, and out to the sea, 
Where some one is sailing, and thinking 
of me. 

Sailing and thinking of me. 


- 18 - 


14 . 


The south fork of the St. Vrain, 

They leave behind, and slowly gain 
Up curving grades, a high plateau, 
Where they could see the road below 
O'er which they passed an hour before, 
Winding 'long the canyon’s floor. 

Millers Rock across the way, 

Loomed up a massive dome of grey. 

Far to the south, a sea of mange, 

'Rose the hills and snowy range. 

The level way now wandered thru 
Aspen groves and parks anew; 

By mountain school and mountain ranch; 
Thru tiny vales that twist and branch 
Up Iron Clad’s majestic side, 

Who glowers 'cross with sullen pride, 
On Big John standing calm, serene, 
Smiling in his robes of green. 


— 19 — 


15 . 


C 


Soon they topped a little hill; 

Allen’s Park lay calm and still 
At their feet, a fairy scene 
Framed close and deep by mountains 
green; 

Here and there a granite dome; 

Here and there a summer home; 

Shady woods and open park; 

Meadows green and coolies dark; 

And far beyond a village small. 

The hush of distance over all. 

The lofty range along the west, 

With wreaths of mist upon its crest, 

Stood out, a titan wall of grey, 

Streaked with shades of dying day. 

Helen gazing o’er the Park, 

Said, “Let us tarry here and mark 
Yon brilliant sunset lose its glow, 

Before we hasten on below.” 



- 20 - 




16 . 

Above, the clouds in brilliant shade, 

A glorious, wild scene displayed, 

As tho the flash of many guns, 

Had mingled with the sinking sun. 
And to the casual hurried glance, 

It might have been a scene in France. 
Here, a mass of khaki brown; 

There, a grey and shattered town; 
Here, a space of mauve and lead, 
Splashed with spots of brown and red; 
Beyond, a space of creamy light, 

With crosses red, and crosses white; 
Here, a field of ocean green, 

With crosses white, all between. 

Then the colors fade and blend, 
Twisting, writhing, ’til the end. 


- 21 - 


( 


17 . 


Now they rattled down the grade, 

And quickly reached Black Gulch’s shade, 
Where Rock Creek hums an endless strain, 
And hastens to the St. Vrain. 

They hurried on thru Allen’s Park, 

Racing with the coming dark; 

O’er many an aspen wooded sw T ail; 

Down many a peaceful meadowed dale. 
Then they crossed a long moraine, 

And bridged the North Fork St. Vrain. 
And as the night began to make, 

They pitched their tents by Copeland 
Lake: 

An oval mirror woodland bound, 

Dimly revealed the hills around. 


- 22 - 


18 . 


In Allen's Park the young bride-groom, 
Received his call to answer soon, 

Within the ranks for over sea: 

The crusades of democracy. 

Ten days, it read, ten days, no more. 

He thrilled, then saddened to the core. 
Ten days this dream would cease to be, 
To live a precious memory. 

He thought of all their plans of home, 
And scarce’ suppressed a sobbing moan. 
The honey-moon must set in seas, 

Of war’s stern grim realities. 

The card he read and quickly hid, 

And “Onward,” to the party bid. 

The rending secret all the while, 

He carried ’neath a happy smile. 


- 23 - 


19 . 


With early coming of the day, 

They ate, and hurried on their way 
Up the valley fresh and cool, 

Past many a dam and beaver pool. 

And soon they reached the Cascade Falls, 
Where echoes roll up mountains tall. 

Here the way grew rough and steep, 

Half blocked by stones, and rutted deep; 
Some times it seemed that beasts and load, 
Would slide from off the slanting road. 
Each hour the valley wilder grew, 

And cooler each new wind that blew; 
Clearer every woodland sound, 

And higher all the hills around. 


- 24 - 


» 


20 . 


The girls a searching party made, 

And scouted thru the tangled glades; 
Amoung the rocks and coolies damp, 

To find a place to make the camp. 

Plump Ester flushed with panting pride, 
Kept pace with Winifred’s firm stride. 

And Isabell in bloomers dressed, 

Seemed just a girl among the rest. 

And gracetul Bertha sweet and fair, 

Flung lightly on the morning air, 

Her silvery laugh so free from care. 

Who would have guessed, there ’neath the 
trees, 

That one so young could boast two “keys.” 
Frederick’s zest and zeal grew, 

Until he seemed a person new.— 

About high noon, with shout and call, 

They found a place that suited all. 

And in Wild Basin’s coolest shade, 

An erst while home was quickly made. 


- 25 - 


21 . 


Sweet hours were spent about the camp; 
Sweet hours exploring coolies damp, 
Where flowers wild, profusely grew, 
Flowers of every shade and hue. 

Long hours were spent in vale and wood, 
Where lodge-pole pine so thickly stood 
That one could scarcely 'tween them tread; 
Or see more than a rod ahead. 

From sun to sun long climbs were made, 
And for the scenes they sweetly paid 
With tired limbs, when back at night, 
The camp loomed up a welcome sight. 
Calm hours when some felt indisposed, 
They lazed about the camp or dozed, 
Listening to the sighing pine, 

Watching grey squirrels deftly dine. 


- 26 - 


22 . 


When the night his chilly frown 
Had cast, on hills and canyons down, 
They’d build a bon-fire by the tent; 

And many happy hours were spent 
Spinning yarns and singing songs, 

Or, telling of their climbs along 
Lofty cliffs and banks of snow, 

While fire light died to ember’s glow. 
Then one less languid than the rest, 

Would pile limbs upon the nest 
Of glowing embers ’til the blaze, 

A swirling shower of sparks would raise; 
And shadows ’mong the trees would glance; 
Grotesque forms that seemed to dance, 
Until the silent wood around, 

Became a weird gathering ground, 

Of prehistoric beasts and men, 

Advancing, slinking back again. 


- 27 - 


( 


23 . 

Then conversation fitful grew, 

And some into the tent withdrew. 

For man must sleep if he would gain 
Strength that the morrow’s climb will 
drain. 

They slowly to their beds retire, 

The last one wetting down the fire. 

The beds a layer of blankets were, 

Placed on boughs of spruce and fir: 

A sweet, a cool, and scented nest, 

Where king or queen might calmly rest. 
The fire is out, the camp is dead, 

Save for the pack-rats noisy tread. 

The murmuring pine and St. Vrain, 

Woos them all to sleep again. 

God grant them all where e’er they be, 
Many nights from care as free. 


- 28 - 


24 . 


From early morn’ to close of day, 

And in the twilight soft and grey, 

Joe watched a game as old as Cain, 
Played on unsuspecting swain, 

By Bertha with her charms and power, 
To pass away an idle hour. 

Frederick slowly learned the game, 

Such hearts as his are sure to flame, 

For geometry and a plus b, 

Can not solve the mystery, 

Which makes them shy and half afraid, 
That hidden error they have made. 

Life’s checkered graph men can’t explain, 
When Cupid leads or holds the rein; 

And yet the females of the race, 

Are born with power its curves to trace. 
And thus the time sped swift and far, 

For happy days the shortest are; 

But still in memory live and grow, 

When older days have passed below. 

Ah, richer they than any king, 

With sceptre, crown and signet ring, 

With castles and a mighty throne; 

In this their erstwhile wood-land home. 


- 29 - 


25 . 


The happy bride the sweet long while, 
Suspected not her bride-groom’s smile. 

Our happiness quite often hangs 
By threads, above fate’s cruel fangs. 

On every scene he lingered long, 

Enwrapt he list’d to every song. 

Some how he felt that ne’er again, 

He’d wander by the St. Vrain. 

And yet it was not cowardice, 

For gladly he would pay the price. 

And yet it was not fright or fear, 

That filled his heart with broodings drear.’ 
The little wife his joy and pride, 

Was yet the thorn within his side. 

Sweet love has power o’er “men and mice,” 
That’s only passed by sacrifice. 


- 30 - 


26 . 


One eve' from out the little tent, 

There came a mild argument. 

“There’s but one way,” Helen said, 
That to the top of Longs Peak led. 
Vesta too, was positive, 

The man was yet to be and live, 

Who from the east, or south, or west, 
Could mount the Giant’s lofty crest. 
But Joe and Frederick, half in fun, 
Smiled, and said it could be done. 
Boasting they would mount the Peak, 
Up from the source of Hunter’s Creek. 
Bertha knew not who was wrong, 

But asked if she might go along. 

“Sure,” answered Joe with daring guile, 
As all the rest began to smile, 

“We would not leave a one behind.” 

The invitation all declined. 


31 - 


27 . 


They left the camp at break of day, 
And upward climbed a winding way 
Along a roaring mountain creek, 

Where trail and stream play hide and seek, 
From mountain side to moutain side, 

The vale was scarce’ and echo wide; 

A wilderness of fir and pine, 

With jutting rocks and clinging vine. 

The winding trail then steeper grew, 
Each turn revealing wonders new, 

Of rugged hills all patched with snow; 

Of cataracts with lakes below; 

And towering cliffs grim and bold, 

Like massive castles worn and old. 

Ousal falls across the glade, 

A ceaseless lyric lightly played 
Upon the morning’s fragrant air; 

Sweet and pure, clear and rare. 


- 32 - 


28 . 


From out the canyons far and near, 

Songs of nature sweet and clear, 

Echoed thru the woodland glen, 

Rang, and echoed back again. 

The sun then topped Bald Mountain’s 
crown, 

And on the ’wakening vale smiled down. 
The pools in the crystal creek, 

Reflected back each blushing peak. 

Each crag and dome and rocky hill, 

A wreath of mist was holding still. 

Each stately fir and whispering pine, 
Upon their needles green and fine, 

Held a bead of sparkling dew: 

Nature's jewels, fresh and new. 

The violets and columbine, 

The juniper and pinion pine, 

The balsam and the aspen green; 

And lichens shy, from haunts unseen, 
Upon the cool morning air, 

Had poured an incense sweet and rare. 


-33 


29 . 


The trail then left the boistrous stream, 

And led into a deep ravine, 

By mossy tam and padded pool; 

Thru shadows deep, and dark and cool. 

The glade was short, soon left behind, 

As up Mount Orton’s side they climbed. 

And there upon a little shelf 
The trail faded, lost its self. 

Among the rocks and fallen pine, 

That half concealed an embryo mine. 

They circled ’round the slope awhile, 

Then doubled back for half a mile. 

So steep the hill, so blocked the way, 

A precious hour they had to pay, 

For adding scarce’ a thousand feet, 

Upon the course they must complete. 

Their courage ebbed to lowest tide, 

And with it sank their faith and pride; 

For they had boasted to the weak, 

That noon would find them on Longs Peak. 

A weary cloud had settled down, 0 

Upon Mount Orton’s shaggy crown, 

Making weird and damp the way, 

With its plumage cold and grey. 


- 34 - 


30 . 


With starving lungs and throbbing heart, 
They made another valiant start. 
Straight up the hill this time they went, 
Until their strength was all but spent. 
And then abruptly ceased the hill, 

Before them lay a meadow still. 

All green and peaceful there it dreamed, 
A paradise to them it seemed, 

Almost as level as a floor. 

With confidence they started o’er, 

But soon in thick and slimy ooze, 

They sank beyond the tops of shoes. 

With heavy sopping muddy feet, 

They turned and beat a fast retreat. 

And with a lesson fully learned, 

Back to the rocks and trees they turned. 
And so in life’s bewildering fog, 

Many a deep and treacherous bog, 

Seems just a meadow green and sweet, 
And oft’ we wet our weary feet. 


— 35 - 


( 


31 . 

But now each weary yard they gained, 

The way grew easier and proclaimed, 

That soon they’d take a needed rest, 

Upon Mount Orton’s plateaued crest. 

With a valiant burst of speed, 

From out the brakes, their way they freed. 
They slowly climbed a long incline, 

And passed thru weird timber-line. 

Each tree became a gnarled form, 

As tho with agony ’twas torn. 

The trees grew smaller all the while, 

As tho accursed with something vile; 

And close along the upper edge, 

’Twas little more than stunted hedge, 

With graveled pathways all between, 

By constant winds swept smooth and clean. 


- 36 - 


32 . 


The cloud now rested for the day, 
Spread its wings and soared away; 
Unveiling crags and mountains high, 
That seemed to scrape the steely sky. 

An ancient crater just below, 

Filled by years of melting snow: 

Jenks Lake with silvery curving strands, 
An emerald bound by opal bands. 

But haste was theirs this morning time, 
For they had planned a lengthy climb. 

So with a glance that seemed just rude, 
Their way they silently pursued. 

Across Mount Orton sped along, 

In every heart a happy song; 

For just beyond wild Hunter’s Wood, 

The lofty Giant calmly stood. 


- 37 - 


23 . 


They ziz-zagged down a bank of snow, 

To Lonesome Basin just below. 

Angry Hunters Creek they crossed 
On stones, by Frederick deftly tossed. 
They hurried ’cross a stretch of heath, 
Where brooklets gurgled far beneath; 
And circled ’round the tarns and lakes; 
O’er mossy bogs, thru tangled brakes. 

A boulder field they scrambled o’er— 
Result of elemental war, 

In times when long terrific quakes, 

Left shattered mountains in their wakes. 
They climbed a slippery terrace wall, 
Sprayed by a frothing water fall, 

Onto a smooth and graveled place, 

That gently sloped to Meeker’s base. 


- 38 - 


34 . 


They skirted 'round Pagoda’s base, 

A massive rock whose awesome face 
'Rose sheer, five hundred feet or more, 
Seamed by time’s relentless war. 

Into the Gorge of Solitude, 

A barren chasm wild and rude, 

Their silent way they slowly wound 
Up halls by ancient glaciers ground. 
And here within a sheltered nook, 
Close beside a silent brook, 

Their packs they emptied on the green; 
For appetites were whetted keen. 

And as they ate they studied o’er 
The slides and cliffs that ’rose before. 
It seemed impossible from there, 

To mount so steep and high a stair. 


— 39 — 




35 . 

A while they rested on the ground, 

And gazed upon the mountains 'round: 
Titanic, massive, awesome, tall, 

It made them feel like insects small. 

But insect man is n’er content, 

When on some course his mind is bent. 
Beneath the almost mid-day sun, 

The first hard climb was then begun. 
Perspiring, panting, tired and sore, 

They scrambled for an hour or more, 

Up slides of boulders large and small, 

Piled in great confusion all. 

But safe at length they reached the shelves, 
From where the slides had launched them¬ 
selves. 

And here they stopped to rest and ‘‘blow” 
And gaze back on the scene below. 


- 40 - 


36 . 


The lakes they passed two hours before 
On Lonesome Basin’s mottled floor, 

Lay like crystals, clear and thin, 

Their depths revealed, and all within. 

Lake Glacier seemed so straight below, 

Joe felt that he could almost throw 
A stone into her nearest bay, 

And yet ’twas most a mile away. 

And so the trials of yesterday, 

They seem so near, yet far away. 

Their sounds by distance mellowed down, 
Their rough spots smoothed to carpets 
brown. 

Boyhood days, then mating time, 

Seem like a dream almost divine. 

And yet when we were passing thru, 

They had their pain and struggles too. 
Pagoda seemed not half so high, 

Since Chieftain Head now towered near by; 
His lofty crest so cool and proud, 

Half buried in the fleeting cloud. 

Beyond fair Orton, far away, 

Mount Copeland ’rose, a mass of grey, 
Alone and silent, round and worn, 

A titan monk’s head, fringed and shorn. 


- 41 - 


37 . 


f 


And now their stay rope Joe unwound, 

And to each climber passed it ’round. 

They slowly crept up crag and wall, 

Where slip meant death in awful fall; 

And on each narrow, mossy shelf, 

The party stopped to rest itself. 

And as they huddled close and still, 
Frederick learned his heart could thrill. 
Strange ways have Cupid’s ready darts 
To find the cracks in armoured hearts. 
They topped the cliffs, there ’rose before, 
A granite roof all creviced o’er. 

Like snails on a slated tower, 

They slowly crawled for half an hour; 
Clinging close with might and main, 

And oft’ delayed their breath to gain; 

For, in this lofty mountain air, 

The atmosphere is thin and rare; 

And yet a moment’s ample time, 

To charge one for another climb. 


- 42 - 


38 . 

Soon they struck the beaten way, 

That leads back thru the Trough’s wild 
sway. 

They gave a loud victorious shout 
That ’woke the echoes all about. 

For now they knew they had made good 
Their boast that morn’ in Campers Wood, 
That they would mount the Lofty Peak, 

Up from the source of Hunters Creek. 

A narrow shelf they hurried ’round, 

Their spirits all with pride abound, 

And scrambled up an icy slide, 

In notches cut by thoughtful guides. 

“The top at last,” they whooped and cried. 
The deadened silence naught replied. 


—43 


39 . 


The top: a small and bare plateau, 
With tossing seas of hills below. 

A thousand lakes, a thousand rills; 

A thousand crags and rugged hills; 

A thousand valleys green and dark; 
And many an aspen wooded park; 

A thousand mountains robed in white, 
Glinting back the diamond’s light; 

A vast confusion of many hues— 

The scene deserves a master’s dues. 
Far to the east a mottled plain, 

That slowly into azure wanes. 

Argus with his hundred eyes, 

Could sit for hours in awed surprise, 
Each moment finding something new, 
From that grand panoramic view. 


— 44 — 


40 . 


All were weary to the core, 

But Bertha said, “Just one thing more, 
Let’s cross yon chasm rough and deep, 

And visit Meeker’s knife edged peak.” 

It oft’ is said, it can’t be done, 

But they with reckless daring, won 
Mount Meeker’s sharp and crumbling 
crown, 

Before her slides they hurried down. 
Frederick now with tender care, 

Helped Bertha down the crumbling stair. 
To such a task he was unused, 

And oft’ his tongue became confused. 
What he lacked in courtly grace, 

He well made up with strength in place. 
It was a worried camp that night, 

That welcomed them into its light. 

Soon Nox and Morpheus ruled the hour, 
And held them in a twofold power. 


- 45 - 


41 . 


( 


Next morn’ for all the party’s sake, 

They planned a trip to Thunder Lake; 

And ere the sun had drunk the dew, 

The forest deep they wandered thru, 

That winds along Mount Orton’s base, 

Up to Chieftain’s western face. 

The bride and groom sat side by side, 

Just below the Great Divide, 

Where Thunder Lake with groaning pain, 
Gives birth to infant St. Vrain. 

From all the rest they’d strolled apart, 

He, to confess his aching heart, 

She, within his love to bask, 

And questions sweet again to ask.— 
Mount Alice on them smiled down, 

A bride herself in snow white gown— 

Her willing head he gently pressed 
Upon his slowly heaving breast, 

And murmured low, “Dear listen well, 

A secret, Sweet, I now must tell. 

Tomorrow I must leave the hills, 

To follow where Columbia wills.” 


- 46 - 


42 . 


In vain he sought to calm her fears, 

And tried to kiss away her tears. 

She sobbed, “You can’t—you must not go 
Our home—my mate—I love you so.” 
Mute, like one within a trance, 

He cast a long and lingering glance 
Down the winding St. Vrain, 

Then whispered to his bride again, 

“I go my little bit to do, 

That all of this, my dear, and you, 

May always be as pure and free, 

As it is now, Love can’t you see?” 

At length her storm of grief was o'er. 
She gazed along the rocky shore 
With wistful smile, then answered she, 
“My mate speaks well, so let it be.” 


47 - 



c 


43 . 

Camp was broke,—ere close of day 
The party went its homeward way. 

Two saddened hearts within that crowd, 
Smiled with the rest and sang aloud. 

Many a grief, heart ache, or pain, 

Is hidden ’neath some sweet refrain. 

The sweetest songs that e’er were sung, 
From secret griefs have often sprung. 

At Copeland Lake they northward turned, 
Any many a camping site they spurned; 
Hastening thru the twilight grey, 

Where eyes could scarce mark out the way. 
Soon they topped a parky swail, 

Just ueyond Wild Horse Creek vale. 

And here a long abandoned farm, 

Sheltered man and beast from harm, 

By a cold and driving rain, 

Until the morning came again. 


- 48 - 


But morn’ awoke sweet and clear, 

With Meeker looming high and near. 
With hurried breakfast on they sped, 
O’er a winding way that led 
Thru Cabin Creek’s willowed glade, 
Where beavers many a dam had made. 
Up Elkanah valley fair, 

Beneath Twin Sisters’ haughty stare; 
Thru Lamb’s Notch, by Lily Lake; 

Thru many a lodge-poles scented brake; 
By summer homes, and hill resorts, 
Where rest and health the tourist courts; 
Past Mary’s Lake with meadowed shores, 
And down to where the Thompson roars. 
With appetites like hungry shark, 

They stopped to lunch in Estes Park. 


45 . 


A pleasure “Rome” in all her power, 
Estes seemed that noon-tide hour. 
Humans swarming everywhere, 

Without a single thot of care; 

Riding, walking, and in cars, 

All seemed beyond the reign of Mars. 
The bride looked o’er the noisy throng, 
And wondered how that wierd song, 
That call of war from o’er the way, 

Was sounding to each mind that day. 

It seemed to her insult and sin, 

All this crowd of idle men, 

While she was giving home and all, 

In answer to Columbia’s call. 

And yet it showed the nation’s strength, 
The surplus to be drawn at length; 

And this their last wild orgies, 

Before their turn for overseas. 


50 - 


4 G. 

Time soon found them eastward bound, 
Thru open park, o’er rocky mound. 

The Thompson soon was left behind, 

As up Park Hill they slowly climbed. 
At length they crossed the sandy swail, 
That leads down into Meadow Dale. 
They here delayed to bid farewell, 

To snowy range, and park, and dell. 

The horses soon impatient grew, 

And down the hills they fairly flew; 
Down Muggens Gulch ten miles long: . 
A twisting dragon fierce and strong, 

His thousand arms sunk deep and still, 

In every rocky, wooded hill. 

The Little Thompson soon they bridged, 
And climbed the hill beyond Elk Ridge. 


- 51 - 


47. 


The scene now spread before their eyes, 
Was one an artist fain would prize. 

But they must hasten, for the sun, 

Button Rock had almost won. 

Little Elk was soon astern. 

Down Long Hill they twist and turn, 
Down to where the road again, 

Winds along the St. Vrain. 

And in the twilight cool and damp, 

By many a summer home and camp, 

They horse-shoed ’round ’neath Steam¬ 
boat’s prow, 

Who plows across toward Lookout’s brow. 
As the darkness settled down, 

They stopped again in Lyons Town. 

And here the party ceased to be. 

Farewells were bid most sincerely. 

They sang, “The End of a Perfect Day.” 
And each one went his separate way. 
Some to homes in distant towns; 

Some to strive for learning’s crowns; 

One to live by hill and stream; 

One to roam alone and dream; 

One to cross the rolling deep; 

And one to yearn for him and weep. 


- 52 - 


48 


Frederick went, within his heart, 

A precious dream that ne’er would part. 

And who, tho wed and settled down, 
Would trade such memories for a crown? 

A summer romance, sweet and pure, 

In the mind is half a cure 
For many ills of soul and mind, 

That one along the way will find. 

To Vesta, now, the hours sped, 

Her very soul was cold and dead; 

For when the morning dawned again, 

Joe would leave the St. Vrain. 

And yet, with pride and heart athrill, 

She watched him cross the southern hill. 

Let half the wreaths of victories 
Be placed upon such wives as these; 

For more than half the share of pain 
They bore, that peace might come again. 


53 - 


49 


When Joseph reached the must'ring place, 
There was Frederick’s thoughtful face. 
“Rejected,” said the clerk to Joe, 

And nodded toward the youthful row, 
Where Frederick stood, in denim still, 

In the place that Joe should fill. 

Kind fates there be with magic power 
Who sometimes rule our saddest hour, 

And yet, the sweets of their decree 
Hold bits of sorrow none may see. 

The weeks passed by, a groom and bride 
Smiled, and sought their fears to hide. 
And then at last a message came, 

A blow that numbed both heart and brain. 
“Killed in action, killed in France, 

Stabbed thru and thru by Teuton lance.” 
And farther on the message read, 

“Seven huns lay ‘round him dead.” 

Seven huns had felt his power, 

In that, his last and glorious hour. 

For love of country, friend and wife, 

He gave his all, his blood, his life, 

That war should never mar again, 

The homes along the St. Vrain. 


- 54 - 


Now the daylight slowly fades 
Before the night’s advancing blades. 
Twilight softly steals between, 

To protect the day her queen. 
Slowly fades the waning light, 

And the breezes sigh good night. 


The End 




Here's a smile for those who love me; 

Here’s a smile for those who don't; 
Here's a smile for those who will, 
And a smile for those who won’t. 


I 


MY SWEET-HEART 

I have a little sweet-heart, 

She’s as pure as morning dew, 
And ’tho I know we ne’r can wed, 
To her I shall be true. 

Her cheeks they have no roses; 

Her hair is streaked with grey, 
But still I kiss her fondly, 

And to her softly say, 

“You are my little sweet-heart, 
My love for you is divine, 

I love you, mother dearest, 

I love you, mother mine.” 


I 


-58- 


THE SUMMARY 


I’ve tasted the bitters of sorrow, and 
washed them down with a sigh; 

I’ve sipped at the wines of pleasure, and 
laughed as the world went by; 

I’ve went the way of the wayward, I’ve 
been good for a space as well; 

But neither has brought contentment, after 
the first sweet spell. 

Surely, oh surely, there’s something more 
to life than this, 

Something that brings contentment, peace, 
and permanent bliss. 

Perhaps I am asking more than a common 
mortal’s share; 

Perhaps the trouble is I, who am not play¬ 
ing fair; 

Perhaps tomorrow I’ll know, or maybe I 
never will, 

And the day will die with a clouded sky, 
and a wind that is never still. 


-59- 


THE FAIRY FAY 


I owned a ship, a beautiful ship; 

I named her the Fairy Fay; 

But a pirate bold, aye one that’s old, 
Stole her from me one day. 

I saw her drift with the ebbing tide, 
Slowly out to sea, 

All trim and white, into the night, 

Where the winds were roving free. 

Slowly but surely she drifted away; 

It seemed that it could not be; 

And Oh, the pain, as I called in vain, 

She was all the world to me. 

I sailed and searched on many a sea, 
And many a distant shore; 

And prayed that fate, ere ’twas too late, 
Would find my ship once more 


-60- 


The years passed by and age came on, 
And nothing seemed worth while; 

And then one day I sailed away, 

To a lonely desert isle. 

And there, alone, where I thought to die, 
On the beach of a reef fringed bay, 

All broken and tom, forsaken, forlorn, 

I found my Fairy Fay. 

And Oh, the pain, and yet the joy, 

That seemed so heavenly, 

It mattered not, her broken lot, 

She was still the world to me. 


-61- 


I 


MOONLIGHT ON THE SOUND 

Tis moonlight on the Sound, 

And the tide is ebbing low; 

Wandering breezes play at random, 

Dancing here and there they go 
O’er the sleeping water’s bosom, 

Leaving sparkling paths that glow. 

The fir clad hills are all in slumber, 

Nothing stirs along the shore 
And the lights up in the village 
Have been dead an hour or more. 

Rest and Peace, the ruling powers, 

Calmly hold their reign of sleep, 

Cares and sorrows all forgotten, 

’Neath their gentle power, sweet. 

Would that I could be their subject, 

And forget—in slumber deep. 

< 


-62- 


We all shall build our castles, 

And some will have to fall; 

For it would indeed be a strange, strange 
world, 

If the Fates should favor us all. 


“SANDY” GILL 


I 


He “shipped” in “Shy”, his record shows 
They say he was a “slopper.” 

It may be wrong, to sing this song, 
When he’s so near the “Locker.” 

They shipped him west, with other “gobs,” 
From “Guardo” number two. 

He came aboard, like an old sea lord, 

As “rookies” often do. 

He seemed to think, “I’m a sailor now, 

I must swear and drink my gin;” 

He did not know that it is so, 

Sailors are just men. 

He’d go ashore and “scoff” the “booze,” 
And soon be “under way,” 

He'd drink and fight, the live-long night, 
And “dope” the whole next day. 


-64- 


He got a warning, then a “deck,” 

Then a “summary” or two; 

Three months’ pay slipped away, 

Also his clothes of blue. 

We tried to tell him many things, 

The “nut,” he would not hear. 

He “heaved” a “peg” and hit the “Legs” 
Below the starboard ear. 

They locked him in the “brig” that night, 
The “skipper” thought it best; 

And then next day, he “pulled a play” 

And tapped the “alchy” chest. 

The “First Luff” caught him with the 
“goods,” 

Or rather, just a part; 

And said, “You ‘spick/ you’ll get a ‘kick,’ ” 
In accents rather tart. 


-65- 




He up and grabbed a marlin spike, 

And struck with all his might, 

The “Luff” went down, without a sound, 
His widow weeps tonight. 

A month ago, he dressed in “blues,” 

A week ago, in “whites;” 

In clothes of grey, he marched away 
To “84” tonight. 

A “leather neck” with “craig” and “colt” 
Stands close beside his cell, 

The sun’s first ray, will hear “Nick” say, 
“Inside” down in Hell. 


-66- 


There is beauty in all nature, 
And her voices soft and low, 
Can be heard by all who listen, 
And those who want to know. 


> 


4 


-67- 


THE CALL 


Clearly and sweetly it comes in the morn¬ 
ing, 

Over the misty sea; 

Coaxing and calling, rising and falling, 
Murmuring tenderly. 

Lightly and gaily it comes at the noon-tide, 
Far from the hills and plain, 

Whispering and singing, ebbing and ring¬ 
ing, 

Calling again and again. 

Softly and gently it comes in the evening, 
Over the twilit hills; 

Throbbing and welling, dying and swelling, 
Full of a wondrous thrill. 

Tenderly sighing it comes in the darkness, 
Up from the silent sea; 

Playfully stealing, then merrily pealing; 
Calling me home to thee. 


68- 


A friend is like a melon, 
The best part lies inside; 
A melon must be tasted, 
Friendship must be tried. 


69- 


THE PLEASANT SIDE 


Last night I lay and listened to some sounds 
quite queer and strange; 

I heard the wind go roaring along the 
mountain range; 

I heard the breakers dashing upon a rocky 
shore; 

I heard Niagara Falls with its grand ma¬ 
jestic roar; 

I heard a freight train puffing, toiling up 
a hill; 

I heard the wheels grinding and the whistle 
loud and shrill; 

I heard the breezes murmuring, thru the 
tall and stately pine; 

I heard the tinkling of a bell, distant, clear 
and fine. 

I heard a drummer drumming, with a slow 
and steady beat; 

I heard the soldiers marching, and the 
tramp, tramp, of their feet. 

I lay so still and listened to these sounds 
so strange and queer; 

’Twas not the real sounds, you know, I'd a 
gathering in my ear. 


-70- 


FOOLED 

One summer day I met a lass, 

She smiled so sweet at me; 

It seemed that in this whole wide world, 
No fairer face could be. 

But full ten thousand times or more, 

Since that fatal day, 

I’ve thought that same fool thought again, 
And the devil’s been to pay. 


71 - 


0 


BEFORE EXAM’ 

That night he studied long and late, 

To get some facts within his pate; 

And vainly sought a scheme, to borrow 
A stock of knowledge for the morrow. 

For well he knew that he must “cram” 

Or cheat, to pass that blamed exam’. 

When the hour of midnight came, 

It found him “digging,” hard and “game.” 
And when at “one” a rest he took, 

He swore the “guy” who wrote the book, 
Knew less than he, of things within, 

And he was sure E plus he’d win. 

And then at “two” he went to bed, 

And tried to rest his aching head; 

But just as he would fall asleep, 

The wind would moan, so low and deep, 
“Tomorrow comes that blamed exam’,” 

And he would softly murmur, “damn.” 


- 72 - 


» 

Just one hour before the trial, 

There came to him a thought most vile. 
He knew ’twas wrong, but then he fell. 
Ah me, it pains me now to tell. 

He went again the whole book thru, 

And copied down a fact or two. 

And when the fatal hour came, 

’Twas all that he could do to tame 
His anger wild, that fain would rise, 
For on that list before his eyes, 

Not one question could be found, 

That he had learned or copied down. 

And as he passed that paper in— 

Ah me, he knew it was a sin; 

But he was human, you must know, 

And lived with humans here below— 
Well, just as he passed in that exam’, 
h He, to himself, just murmured, “damn.” 


— 73 — 


THE PUZZLE 

Oft’ I’ve wonderd why the poets 
Should write of angels rare, 
When the world all about us 
Is so full of maidens fair. 

And stranger still, it seems to me, 
This statement should be true, 
When amid this horde of maidens, 
There is one so fair as you. 


- 74 - 


THE DEVIL’S FRY 

The devil sat upon his throne 
Of burnished steel, and polished stone; 
While demons grim and imps so spry, 
Were making ready for a fry. 

Outside stood sinners, young and old, 
Shivering all, but not with cold. 

The demons listened to their moans, 
And answered back with mocking groans. 

Old Nick looked on with fiendish glee, 
And bade the fire made hotter be; 

And sent a band of imps so spry, 

To strip the sinners for the fry. 

And when the fire had grown white hot, 
And oil was sizzling in the pot, 

“Ha, ha,” he muttered, with a grin, 

“Line ’em up and bring ’em in.” 


- 75 - 


( 


The sinners then began to yell, 

And loudly rang the walls of hell; 

And mingled with the tumult ’rose 
The sizzling sound of baking toes. 

Each demon then, with red hot hook, 

Threw a sinner in to cook; 

And danced about in fiendish glee, 

And sang a weird melody. 

The imps all hovered ’round the pot, 

With bars of iron, long and hot; 

And as each sinner ’rose in pain, 

They straight way made him duck again. 

They writhed and twisted like meat rinds, 
And blubbered out their dying whines; 

And when one ’rose with toes foremost, 
They hooked him out to dry and roast. 


- 76 - 


Old Nick looked on with gloating smile, 
As higher ’rose the steaming pile, 

And at each sinner’s dying gasp, 

Edged his teeth upon a rasp. 

Then died away the sobbing moans, 

And ’rose the sound of crunching bones; 
And all the demons gathered ’round, 

The scraps to gather from the ground. 

When old Nick had got’ his fill, 

And all again was hushed and still, 

He murmured low a drowsy sigh, 

“I do so love a sinner fry.” 


< 


MY VALENTINE 

There’s not one lass in all the world, 
That I love, old pal of mine, 

So it’s up to you, old scout, old top, 
To be my valentine. 


< 


- 78 - 


THEME, MORNING 


I've tried all night to write a theme, 
I've tried, but all in vain, 

Now worry keeps my eyes from sleep, 
And fills my head with pain. 

I've tried to sleep, but 'tis no use, 

My thoughts whirl swiftly on. 

The morning breaks, the birds awake, 
To sing with joy anon. 

O, would that I could share their joys, 
And fly away from care, 

On wings of sleep, to slumber deep, 
And rest securely there. 


I was bom to a wild free life, 

A life in the open air, 

With sky above, and earth below, 
And Nature everywhere. 


- 80 - 


> 


THE LITTLE OPTIMIST 

Outside of my window’s a tall pine tree, 
Where a little bird built her nest; 

She made it with care, and lined it with hair 
’Way up in the branches green. 

Each morning at break of day she sang 
A song of love and joy; 

And then ere long, there came with the song 
The twitt’ring of birdies small. 

She tended her brood with loving care, 

And never a thought of sorrow; 

So happy she seemed, how little she 
dreamed, 

That grief could be lurking near. 


- 81 - 


* 


But yesterday eve’ as the twilight grey, 
Came stealing over the hills, 

She was robbed of her nest, and the ones 
she loved best, 

By a cruel and heartless owl. 

This morning she’s back in the branches 
once more, 

And I know, with a broken heart; 

But the brave little thing is trying to sing, 
Her old sweet song again. 


- 82 - 


FLAME AND FROST 


The flame sprang up in a moment’s flash, 
That killed your reason’s power; 

But it died as quick, as I knew it would; 
This dream of an idle hour. 

The ashes glowed in the lingering whirl, 
Then scattered up above; 

And your heart grew cold, as I knew it 
would, 

With the frost of a misspent love. 


- 83 - 


# 


The sweetest song is still unsung; 

The masterpiece unpainted. 
The vilest wrong is still undone; 
The greatest rogue unsainted. 


- 84 - 


THE REVELRY OF THE IMPS 


We lurk in a cave, near Cupid’s grave, 

In the smoke stained hills of hell; 

We dance with glee, in our revelry, 

To the tune that our victims yell. 

Our cave we fill, with the souls we kill, 
And mock each sigh with a moan; 

We throw them down, and spear them 
’round, 

For we are the Devil’s own. 

We dance and tear, with never a care, 

In our hearts of frozen stone; 

We slink and fight, in the gloomy night, 
For we are the Devil’s own. 

We dart and swing, when the fates they 
bring, 

A heart that is crushed with woe; 

With croak and shout, we tear it out, 
Then off to our cave we go. 


- 85 - 


We smirk and grin, as we drag them in, 

Then scream in fiendish glee; 

As they sigh and moan, as they sob and 
groan, 

For this is our revelry. 

We drag them ’round, o’er the bloody 
ground, 

Then toss them up to dry; 

On a sharpened stake, that we twist and 
shake, 

For we know they cannot die. 

We make them feel the cold sharp steel, 

And mock each sigh with a moan; 

We pull them down, and toss them ’round, 

For we are the Devil’s own. 

Our cave we’ll fill, with the souls we kill, 

And hold our revelry, 

In our gloomy cave, near Cupid’s grave, 

Thru all eternity. 

I 


- 86 - 


Respect your elders, they taught the child, 
The child who knew no sin. 

Respect he did, and in return, 

Was taught the ways of men. 


DIAMONDS 

Diamonds in the rough, are around us 
every day, 

Some so deeply crusted that we drop them 
by the way. 

We are seeking, always looking for the 
well cut polished stone, 

Forgetting that a little rub might make 
one all our own. 


- 88 - 


TO MY VALENTINE 

I’ve walked and I’ve looked for hours, 
And weary these legs of mine. 

I’ve been to each store in the village, 

In search of a valentine; 

One that would be appropriate, 

With a message tender and true. 

But search as I would, I could not find 
One that I thought would do. 

IVe searched a volume of Riley, 

And one of Edgar Poe; 

But all of their tender verses 
Have been worn out long ago. 

There’s only two choices left me 
To find one so old that it’s new, 

Or write one myself, and rest me, 

And that’s what I’m going to do. 


- 89 - 


Wife, and friend, and sweet-heart, 

The cause of a hundred tears, 

The cause of a thousand happy thoughts, 
Pal of a dozen years; 

My faith and hope in the future, 

Cause of many a care, 

The queen of a thousand happy dreams, 
And, my valentine so fair. 


- 90 - 


WIFE 


(With apologies to Knowles.) 

Yes, a world of woe 
Lies in that one word, wife. 

To come with jaded spirit home at night 
And find the fire out, and cold repast, 

By which in hurried hand, there calmly lies 
A note, which says, “Back after club,” 

And hardens all one’s soul. 


- 91 - 


L’ ENVOI 

(With apologies to Kipling.) 

When school at last is over, and books have 
been thrown aside, 

When exams are only sad memories, and all 
of the teachers have hied, 

We shall rest, and faith, we shall need it, 
just loaf for a month or two, 

’Till the teachers of next semester, shall 
set us to work anew. 

And those who have passed shall be happy, 
and boast of their last year’s grades 
Remembering only their merits, forgetting 
the failures they made. 

They’ll resurrect many a note book, and 
dig up their last year’s themes, 

That, corrected, will shine with perfection, 
and many a polished gleam. 

And none there will be to detect them, and 
none there will be to blame, 

New teachers will wonder and grade them, 
and say they are slated for fame. 

They shall bluff with ease and perfection, 
and shine like the evening star, 

In the eyes of the lower classmen, for what 
they supposedly are. 


- 92 - 




They said she was an artful maid. 

And this is what my Webster said: 
Artful—tricky, wise and sly; 

And since then I have been quite shy. 


> 


- 93 - 


THE SIGN ON THE DOOR 

I built me a palace of marble and gold, 

I gathered a wealth of riches untold, 

And there in a wonderfully beautiful hall, 

Gathered the kings of the world at a ball. 

Their queens and their princes and all of 
their train, 

Came chatting like fowls when one scatters 
grain. 

They danced and they feasted, they flat¬ 
tered and bowed, 

The devil himself never had such a crowd. 

They devoured my dainties, they gulped 
down my wine, 

And I thought of the pearls cast before 
swine. 

I stood it until I was nearly bereft, 

Then ran for my life with all that was left. 

They stood and they sat as though they 
were glued, 

While I fled and I shrieked, like a sinner 
pursued. 

When I came to the mountains, a rough 
mountaineer, 

Said, “Stay ye awhile, there’s nothing to 
fear.” 

He fed me and housed me until I was strong 

And gave me the theme for many a song. 

And when I returned to my palace once 
more, 

A neat little sign I put on the door, 

—No trespassing here, you kings with your 
frills, 

But welcome, all, you men of the hills. 


> 


Soldiers coming home from war, 
Are heroes for an hour or more. 
Then we forget, as humans do, 
Of all they did for me and you. 


i 


95 - 


A PRISONER 

I dare not look at the hills today, 

Or let my fancies play; 

I dare not look at the fields beyond, 
Lest I shall go away. 

’Mid books and halls of learning, 
Where nature dares not tread; 

A prisoner bound by custom’s chains, 

I bow an aching head. 

The door is wide, and earthy smells, 
Drift shyly in and out. 

I dare not drink too deep a draught, 
Lest I shall laugh and shout. 

The window’s up, and twitt’ring songs, 
Have dared to pass within; 

I close my ears, lest they shall hear, 
And lead me off again. 


- 96 - 


From out the hazy distance, 

There comes a low, sweet call. 

1 close my heart, lest it shall hear, 
And gladly forfeit all. 


- 97 - 


THE MELTING POT 

They prate of the masses, and talk of the 
classes, 

Who rule the world full sway. 

But they of the classes were once of the 
masses; 

And some of the masses will rise to the 
classes, 

And some pf the classes will fall to the 
masses, 

And so it goes on, day after day. 


- 98 - 


TO MY FRIENDS 


Should I make me a cabin down by the sea, 
I'd want you to come and visit with me. 
Should I build me a palace up on the hill, 
I’d want you to come and visit me still. 

Should I come to your town, weary and 
poor, 

I’d like to find welcome back of your door. 
Should I come to your town with laurels 
and gold, 

I'd expect you to welcome me, just as of 
old. 

Obscure or famous, wealthy or poor, 

A friend is a friend, and just nothing more. 
So remember this when e’er you’re around, 
And I’ll do the same when I come to your 
town. 


- 99 - 



• ft 













